


me and my broken heart

by earl_grey_orange_tabby



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, kinda au (see inside for details), listened to too much hozier and came up with this sad little nugget, sad little short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earl_grey_orange_tabby/pseuds/earl_grey_orange_tabby
Summary: Anthony Lockwood has a heart-to-heart with himself in the bathroom mirror at 2 a.m.TW: suicidal ideations/thoughts, self-harm.     title name comes from a song by rixton.
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle & George Cubbins & Quill Kipps & Anthony Lockwood & Holly Munro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	me and my broken heart

**Author's Note:**

> kinda non-important au (just used for plot device): lucy didn’t make the announcement that she’d be leaving to do freelancing, she just left a letter saying everything she said in the book
> 
> see the bottom for the rest of my notes

_“We miss you.”_

_“We’re waiting for you.”_

_“One of us.”_

_The voices of his mother, his sister, and his father swirled around his head. Each voice grew louder and louder as he stepped closer, each adding to the weight he felt in his heart. The same weight that fought to drag him down into his empty grave in his family’s plot._

_Anthony Lockwood was in the middle of his family plot, sitting on the abandoned gravestone he usually chose as his perch, when he began to hear the sounds of desolation. The wails, the screams, the groans of pain._

_Anthony had often heard these sounds in his dreams, and could easily identify them. It was the sound he imagined each of his family members had made as they died._

_With Jessica, there was no imagination required, as he had been there, and he heard her shriek of shock, then of panic, and then of pain._

_With his father, Donald, he only heard a painful grunt, as he had been almost instantly killed by the impact of the crash._

_It was the sound of his mother that truly wrenched tears out of his eyes and brought physically painful pangs to his chest. She had taken the longest to die, as he had overheard from Jessica’s conversation with the police, and it had been painful as he’d gathered. Her wails and calls for her family were evidence of that._

_Anthony’s dream suddenly took a very drastic turn, though, as he heard the sound of clawing coming from the graves of his family, and quickly realized that if he didn’t run, he was going to be faced with the undead corpses of his flesh and blood. He turned heel and ran across the cemetery that had become as familiar as his own hand. Jumping over brambles. Stepping over the broken step. Hopping over a small-ish gravestone._

_Just as he was about to clear the gates, he felt a cold hand settle itself on his shoulder._

Anthony- rather, Lockwood (he _was_ the only Lockwood left)- woke in a panic, drenched in sweat, and gasping for breath. The dream had frightened him so much that he was about to scream, so he had clapped a hand over his mouth, and he sat there silently. After a few seconds, he relaxed his hand and stood up to go wash his face. 

Once he’d hobbled himself to the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. He’d read a piece in True Hauntings last week about an agent diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder that couldn’t look herself in the mirror after seeing herself reflected in the face of a Fetch that’d taken the form of her recently deceased, identical twin sister. 

That was sort of how it felt for Lockwood. 

Everyone had always remarked that the family all looked the same; same black hair, same dark eyes, all thin and tall. 

Once his parents died, Lockwood felt a little comfort in that he could still see his mother and father through his sister. But once she’d died…

He looked the other Lockwood in the mirror, its actions mirroring his own, its looks mirroring that of its dearly departed family. He saw a tear run down its cheek, tracing the curves of its cheekbones, quickly followed by another. 

He sobbed quietly, gasping for breath when the pain of memories overwhelmed him. He missed his family so much. He missed his mum’s kisses and his dad’s hair ruffles and his sister’s tight hugs. 

Lockwood overworked himself ever since his sister died, hoping to save any other children from the fate his sister had met. But he still missed her all the time. 

He’d felt so guilty hiding the room that she’d died in, saying she’d been killed by a ghost, but omitting the fact that he could’ve saved her. He probably would’ve hidden it for the rest of his life, had Lucy not stumbled upon it while looking through the room. 

It was not a mistake showing George and Lucy the room. It’d helped him so much, and he’d really benefited from talking about it with them, but it also released a wave of heartache that he thought he’d tucked away. 

After that, he’d pushed a little _too_ hard, and worked a little _too_ long. He knew he had a problem during a really frightful and tough case he had to go on by himself (before they’d hired Holly), he’d had to sprint away from a ghost and had tripped, almost letting it catch up to him. He knew he had a problem because once he’d tripped, he’d stayed there for a microsecond, wondering _why should I keep running?_ The thought scared him so much that he’d thrown himself up and continued sprinting at once. 

His mental health had reached what he thought was rock bottom, and he’d had these little brushes with death way too many times during those solo cases. He didn’t have Lucy _or_ George to check up on him, even occasionally. He’d flitted so close to ghosts that he could feel their intense chill in his bones. 

He’d even had a not-so-brief period where he had cut himself, toying with the idea of cutting too far, or too long, or too hard, and kil-ceasing himself. It only stopped after he’d had a long and hard thought about whether he’d rather die as a hero, extinguishing a ghost (or trying to), or on the floor of his bedroom, from self-inflicted wounds. And even that issue wasn’t as much of an issue as much as a fear that he’d come back as a ghost in his own home, trapped there forever. 

But every time he’d tried to do something suic-reckless, something held him back from giving in to death. Sometimes it was fear, but more often than not, it was the thought of his teammates back home. The thought that they’d have to deal with his loss like he’d dealt with his family’s.

But even that thought was as light as a string, and could’ve been dangerously easy to forget. 

So, Lockwood sobbed even more, as he felt the hopelessness of it all come crashing down. He wanted so badly to join his family, to join all those friends he’d made and lost, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

Abruptly, a knock sounded on the door, interrupting his horribly dismal thoughts, and stopping him mid-sob. 

He quickly brushed the tears from his eyes, and opened the door to the bathroom to see…

Lucy.

She stood there (short as ever, as he loved to tease her), in a burgundy shirt and sweatpants, with her eyes almost closed from sleep. Her eyes snapped open once she saw him open the door and she looked at him concernedly. 

“The upstairs bathroom didn’t have any hand soap, so I wanted to… get some.”

Lockwood just nodded, silently, not wanting his voice to betray his tears. Lucy just stared at him, obvious that she’d never seen him like this before. 

“Lockwood, are you okay,” she questioned, “you look…”

He knew that Lucy could see through his guise, she’d always been so good-hearted and empathetic, even though he knew she’d never admit to that. 

He just shot her a flawless grin and furtively wiped the teardrops from his cheek, which he hoped beyond hope that she hadn’t seen. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry for hogging the bathroom, Luce, I was just trying to dislodge an eyelash. I imagine I must’ve been making a racket.”

Lucy nodded, though suspiciously, and was about to let him pass, when she suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug. Lockwood, shocked by the change in her usual nature, hugged her back hesitantly. After a few seconds, though, he let her fully envelope him, and sniffed quietly. 

He needed this hug. It was little things like this. It was Lucy. Lucy and George and Holly and Flo and even Kipps. They were the ones who grounded him and who he used as a tether to humanity and happiness. 

This hug signaled, for Lockwood, the metaphorical dawn of a new day that would change his mindset for the better. He was tortured, but not all the time. It was only when he was alone in his head, so he reasoned that if he got out of his head and enjoyed time with friends, he might feel better, overall. 

Before the hug was even done, he felt better, and decided to have some fun with his friends tomorrow. His heart felt like it was mending back together, for the first time in a long time. 

Finally, Lucy let him go, and looked up at him quietly. He just replied, with a hint of forced mirth, “What was that for, Lucy?”

She fiddled with the hem of her ratty _True Hauntings_ shirt and said, “Just felt like it.” After shooting him a final, cursory glance, she said, “Good night, Lockwood.”

* * *

The next morning, after reading the note she’d left explaining that she’d be moving out and was going to begin her freelance career and she was _sorry, so so sorry_ , with George and Holly looking at him with sorrowful faces, it took all Lockwood had not to fall apart and burst into tears.

Nevertheless, he gathered his feelings and tucked them very, very deep inside of them, where they would remain for months. The logical part of his brain figured _Lucy hasn’t been here for that long, she probably wants to make an individual name for herself. That’s almost exactly what you did after Sykes’ training._ However, his heart only knew sorrow. He forced down his emotions, ignoring the pain and angst and the bone-crushing sadness.

Projecting none of these feelings, he turned to the remainder of his agency and said, “Alright then, I suppose now that we’re down an agent, we better start training you for field work, Holly.’

It didn’t matter that his heart was slowly breaking. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all. so that was a fun little fic, wasn't it?  
> this is my ao3 debut, since I've been posting other stuff on ff.net (under a different name) that I wasn't really proud of.  
> any who, I hope everyone enjoys it, and gets in their feels a little :)


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